


Make Me Whole (alternatively, "Undone and Letting Go")

by RZZMG



Series: Draco x Theo Stories [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Children, Drama & Romance, Duty, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Forgiveness, Goodbyes, Heartbreak, Hermaphrodites, Hogwarts, Homecoming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Metamorphmagus, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Hogwarts, Rejection, Seduction, Sharing a Bed, Transgender, head canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: Theodore Nott was born different, but his secret is one he's never told anyone – not even his best friend, Draco Malfoy, whom Theo has loved from the time they were very young. As an adult, when he uses his ability as a Hermaphroditic Metamorphmagus and takes on the persona of 'Theia Variel' he tries to win his homophobic friend's love, but will it be enough to undo Draco's staunch traditionalist background? Or will Theia's attempted seduction backfire, destroying the friendship of a lifetime? A story about growing up and discovering what's truly important in life, and how love can undo you...and make you whole.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my intended 2014 BROKEBACK FANDOM FEST entry (a fest featuring slash or femmeslash best friends falling in love). Sadly, I never finished it in time for the fest, and it seems that fest's site has been purged. The story is completed, however, and is multi-chaptered.
> 
>  
> 
> _Self-prompt: Draco x Theo (Harry Potter fandom); drama-angst; romance & sex; exploring transgenderism, gender norms, parent-pleasing_

.

**PART ONE**

.

_**Wiltshire – July, 1987** _

 

"You're sweaty."

The hug Theo shared with Draco inside the safety of the gazebo warmed him to his toes, it sparkled in his chest. It filled him with a sense of comfort, and told him where he belonged.

"You are, too," he whispered with a happy sigh as Draco's arms came around him, completing the circle. "I don't mind."

"Me, either," his best friend admitted.

Theo cuddled closer. He never wanted to let go.

"THEODORE ADDICUS NOTT! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing, boy?"

Theo's father's sharp bark was filled with disappointment and the promise of punishment later. It was enough to terrify his son. Theo jerked back from Draco and dropped his arms, stepping out of the hug he'd been giving his best friend.

"Saying goodbye," he mumbled, knowing the excuse wouldn't save him from the whipping he was sure to receive as soon as he got home. His father had been very clear about showing signs of affection that he'd deemed 'too girly', especially towards boys.

"Draco, come here," Lucius Malfoy evenly instructed his son.

Draco seemed reluctant to part from him, despite his father's command. A petulant frown compressed his lips together, and his brows shot downward with annoyance. As always, though, the Malfoy heir did as was expected of him, and turned to obey. He gave Theo a final wave over his shoulder as he jogged off.

"Bye, Theo! See you soon!"

"Bye," Theo called back, feeling the loss of his friend like a hole in his chest. Every time their play dates ended, it was always the same: Draco dutifully returned to his father's side, and Theo let him go, wishing for just five more minutes.

Draco's father was nicer than Theo's, too. He never smacked Draco around, and he gave Draco everything he wanted. More importantly, he looked at Draco with pride, and when he touched his son, it was always with warmth and love.

Theo's father didn't act like that. His father didn't love him, and was ashamed of him. It was the same with his mother. Theo had known that for as long as he'd been alive. He'd never been given genuine affection and gentleness from anyone but Draco, who would hold his hand when no one else was looking, and who liked to give him hugs back. Theo lived for those moments, storing each one away in his heart as something precious to help get him through his days.

Grabbing hold of his hand in a rough, gnarled grasp, Thaddeus Nott dragged Theo away from the Malfoy's garden after a terse 'good-bye' to Draco's family. He said nothing to Theo all the way back through the house, nor as they stepped into the Floo together.

As soon as they touched down at their own home, however, his father flung Theo's hand from his, and reached for his wand.

"How many times must I tell you, whelp? Hugging boys is for poofs, and no son of mine will ever be into the brown, only the pink!"

Theo didn't understand the strange terms his father used, but he knew what that wild, mad look in the man's eyes meant. Cowering, he hunched in on himself and waited for the first hex to fall, closing his eyes and disappearing into the world inside his mind to escape his reality.

Within his head, he walked along a white gravel path past red garden roses, and recalled how pretty Draco's mum's summer dress was, and relived the sweet, warm hugs he'd shared with Draco that day.

He held onto those beautiful memories and didn't let go, even as he was flayed open and undone by his father's cruel magic.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire - July, 1991** _

 

"Okay, fine."

Theo scooted away.

Draco sighed. He hadn't wanted to sound so harsh, but Theo had to learn now before they started school in September that hanging all over a bloke was... well, it was _queer_ , and Draco didn't want people thinking he was like that.

Even if it did secretly feel good.

His father had told him all about sex when he was ten. He'd learned what his dick would be used for as soon as he grew into it someday, and he'd learned about what girls were designed to do with his grown-up prick. He'd already witnessed the act, too: Blaise's twenty-year-old shameless sister, Carmine, had been riding the wild broom of some older fellow in an upstairs study at the Zabini's New Years' party a few months back. Through the crack in the door, Draco had watched the chick's tits bounce up and down as she'd shagged this fat, bald guy sitting in a chair. It had looked wicked, and he couldn't wait for his turn to try it out.

Of course, he'd have to wait for marriage. His father was very specific about not bringing an illegitimate Malfoy into the world, and besides, there were diseases one could catch that could make your "thing" fall off if you slept with a dirty person who got around. No way was Draco taking that chance!

In that same discussion with his father, Draco had also learned about 'aberrant behaviour' – specifically, lusting after someone of the same sex. His father said the practise was considered in very poor taste, on par with taking a Mudblood for a wife. It just wasn't done.

Clearly, Theo was still a child about such things, though, because the guy didn't seem to get it that the hugging thing was not something boys their age should do anymore. It was aberrant behaviour, and it also looked babyish. Boys their age shook hands like men did, and sometimes they clapped each other on the back. They never hugged, unless they were related. At least, that's what Draco's father had said.

He tried explaining all of this to Theo, who listened in wide-eyed wonder.

"Didn't your father explain any of this to you?" Draco asked his clueless friend.

Theo shook his head, and dropped his gaze to his feet, frowning. "The only thing my dad's ever said about it is that I'm too much a poof for my own good. I didn't know what he meant until just now." He looked up at Draco with those too-big, indigo-violet eyes of his. They were filled with tears. "Do you think I'm aberrant for wanting to be near you?"

Before Draco could answer, Theo was gripping his arm in a tight hold, a look of panic on his face. "You won't stop being my friend, will you?" His hand tightened, and Draco knew he'd be bruised by it. "I swear I won't hug you anymore. Just..." He broke into sobs. "Don't let me go! Don't quit being my friend!"

Draco flicked Theo in the forehead. "Idiot, of course not!" He extricated his arm from Theo's grip. "No hugging, though, okay?"

Even if he did secretly like it.

Theo fervently nodded, agreeing to anything Draco offered. "Okay."

Draco understood in that moment that he could use Theo's weakness against him, and bring his friend to his knees, if he wanted. He could twist Theo into becoming his servant, if he so wished, holding out the promise of friendship as the carrot to entice Theo into doing his bidding. There was power here Draco had never noticed or expected.

Lucius was always on him about what being a good Slytherin was all about, as it was a given that Draco would end up in the same House as every Malfoy before him had done. Yet, as he stared into Theo's innocent gaze, Draco realised he didn't want to hurt his friend like that.

Instead, he compromised.

"Ask the Sorting Hat to put you into Slytherin with me when it's your turn to be sorted this September. That way, we won't have to be separated, because I _know_ you'll end up in Hufflepuff, otherwise."

Eagerly, Theo nodded. "We'll be together always." He held out his hand so they could shake on the deal – as male friends ought to do. "Best friends forever."

Draco took the proffered hand and they shook. "Always and forever," he vowed.

Even if he did secretly wish Theo had been born a girl.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire - July, 1992** _

 

"I saw."

"Saw what?"

Theo turned onto his side and stretched his senses across the dark gap between his and Draco's beds. They were sleeping in Draco's 'magic treehouse' – a miniature medieval castle made of wood and entwined into the upper boughs of the old oaks that bordered the Malfoy property. Lucius had had it commissioned for Draco's twelfth birthday, just the month before.

He whispered so as to not wake Crabbe or Goyle, who were sleeping in their beds nearby. "I saw you staring at her again, the Granger girl."

Draco's disembodied voice reached him out of the darkness, sounding irritated at being woken up. He'd probably just been nodding off to sleep. "The Mudblood? Hard not to stare when she's waving her hand around like a loon in class."

Theo snorted in disbelief. "You stare at her even when she isn't being a swot. Is she your type, then?" His heart rate accelerated, as he waited to hear Draco's response, eager to know what his best friend looked for in a girl.

Draco hissed like a snake at him. "Get bent. I'd never stoop so low as to touch one of _their_ kind."

"What about Parkinson? Or Greengrass?" Theo knew he was pushing, but he'd been cataloguing the different kinds of girls there were in their class _–so many!–_ and the attributes they had that made them different from boys.

"What about them?" Draco asked, feigning nonchalance.

Theo rolled onto his side. "What do you think of blondes versus, say, redheads and brunettes?"

He could hear as Draco shifted, probably adopting the same pose as Theo. "Well, blondes are pretty, naturally, but they're a Knut a dozen in our circle, so nothing special there. Gingers are unique, but they're all of the lower classes. I guess… I prefer brunettes, mostly. Long, dark hair that curls to a girl's waist." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Yeah, that's pretty. Exotic, even."

"You into that Chang witch who's a year above us? She's got long, black hair. Straight, though."

"I'd date her," Draco bragged, "but wouldn't marry her. She's only half-blood. What about you?"

Theo's chest tightened and his mouth went dry. Here was a topic that Draco had made clear last summer was off-limits. Treading carefully, he said, "I… I like them all. They're all unique in their own way, aren't they?"

Draco snickered. "Chicken."

"Am not!" Theo protested, careful to keep his voice low.

"Are, too."

"Wankstain, I am not!"

"Then say what you're into," Draco challenged.

Theo tried to find a very Slytherin way to say what he wanted without the truth being revealed. "I… like blonds."

Draco was silent in the face of that pronouncement, and Theo knew he'd taken it too far. He quickly compensated.

"Lavender Brown is pretty - for a Gryffindor."

His best friend turned over in his bed and huffed with agreement. "Yeah," he said, a bit distractedly, "she's okay." A second later, "Go to sleep, Theo."

"Yeah, okay. Good night," Theo whispered.

He didn't get much sleep that night, thinking about how his hair was naturally dark and a bit curly, and wondering if Draco meant the same thing as _he_ had about having a preference for such things.

 

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to reiterate that this will be a fic featuring a Theo that can change his gender at will. It's not wholly Slash or wholly Het, but a combination of both. I wanted to clarify that, as it seems there's some confusion by some readers.
> 
> Now on with the show...

* * *

 

_**Wiltshire - July, 1993** _

 

"No way!"

Draco looked smug.

Theo leaned back against the settee's cushions, feeling envy and curiosity war for control of his mouth. "How did it feel?" he asked, his thirst for knowledge winning out.

Across the narrow space separating them, Draco took a seat on his bed and crossed his ankles. "Like hot magic flowing through me from head to toe," he admitted, cupping his crotch. He was bulging at the front of his trousers, but didn't seem in the least bit ashamed of that fact. "I woke up covered in come. It was fucking awesome!"

Theo's insides tingled at the visual of Draco naked, his pale skin covered in creamy, white seed…

It was more than a bit irksome to Theo that he hadn't yet hit his full growth spurt. Honestly, he was feeling a bit left out as a result of his body's dawdling. Sure, he still had a few weeks until he was officially thirteen, being one of the youngest in their class, but it was still embarrassing to be struggling up the hill in the body of a kid, when everyone else had reached the summit and was tipping over the edge into adulthood. Zabini now towered a good foot over him, the conceited git, and Weasley was right there too, neck-and-neck. Even Longbottom had sprouted by the end of last term.

On the flip side, Theo was seriously concerned as to what would happen to him once he did hit puberty, what with his 'secret' and all. Would he end up with female breasts or would they remain firm, like a male's? Would his penis shrink up, or would it grow longer? Would his voice stay the same or deepen, as Draco's had? Would he be more male than female, or the other way around? He was a bit scared to find out, and he wished he had someone to talk to about it.

In fact, he'd been forbidden to reveal to anyone the nature of his magical "birth defect" –being able to change shape and sex at will– especially to 'that Malfoy brat' (as his father repeatedly called Draco).

He'd most certainly experimented with his abilities over the past few years, changing when no one was around and the door was locked with a powerful charm. He'd tried out different faces, different eye and hair colours, different body types – including female. He couldn't seem to age beyond his own physical growth (so, no breasts to look at or fondle), but he had seen the differences between boys and girls; had felt them and known them intimately. He'd even made his hair grow to his waist just to see how it would lay: long and curly, just as he'd assumed.

Of course, he'd turn back into his natural form quickly, too afraid at getting caught. His father would literally murder him if Theo's secret ever got out. Still, he wondered if his talent would alter or cease completely once he'd had his first wet dream, too. Would that set the pattern for him remaining male the rest of his life, or could he pick what gender he wanted once he was an adult?

It was worrisome to him, because, either way, his relationship with Draco was going to change. Theo wasn't sure whether that would be a good or a bad thing.

His friend shifted, and his bed squeaked, and that drew Theo back into their conversation. "Huh?" he asked, knowing he'd missed something said.

"I said, I've already wanked four times today," Draco admitted with a naughty smirk that set Theo's blood roaring. "Can't get enough of it."

Feeling his cheeks flame, Theo laughed. "You're sex mad, you lucky bastard!"

Draco threw himself back on his bed, lying flat with his hands behind his head. The hard ridge in his slacks was very visible from the angle, as the object underneath it strained, seeking freedom.

Theo had to quickly look away before he was caught staring.

"Your turn will come," his friend told him with perfect assurance. Draco did a mini-crunch and looked up at Theo. "You'll be just as blitzed, too, you'll see. It's impossible not to be." He dropped back down and stared up at his bed canopy again. "You'll get it once it happens to you, and then all you'll be able to think about is sex with girls."

Somehow, Theo didn't think things were going to be so black and white, or cut and dry for him.

A month later, his prediction came true when Theo had his first wet dream…about Draco.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire - July, 1994** _

 

"It's awful."

"What is?" Draco asked, leaning back on his hands and staring out at his mother's rose garden. It was too hot and humid for running around. Maybe a ride on his new Firebolt was just what he needed to-

"Losing Lupin as a teacher. He was pretty good," Theo said.

Draco snorted. "How safe could he have been, really? He was a werewolf _and_ he was friends with that lunatic, Sirius Black."

"That 'lunatic' is your second cousin," Theo reminded him.

"Don't remind me."

They were silent for a good minute after that, but Draco knew his best friend wouldn't let the topic lie. Theo had brought it up for a reason, and clearly, he wanted to discuss it – for what reason, Draco was sure he'd find out eventually.

"Still, it's rotten luck," Theo continued, just as Draco had predicted. "I mean, he was a good teacher - certainly better than Lockhart and Quirrell. It's not his fault he's got a... condition. He didn't ask to be made different. Why should he be punished for something that's completely out of his control?"

Draco stared at his friend. "Seriously?" he asked, incredulous. "The bloke's a freak of nature. He's dangerous!"

"Only once a month," Theo argued. "Aside from that, he's normal. He's a good teacher. I learned a lot in his class. It doesn't seem right to punish him for something that's not his fault."

"He's aberrant," Draco said, dismissing the conversation. He was bored, and wanted to do something.

Theo wouldn't let it go, though. "So? What's so wrong with being unusual or different from everyone else?"

Draco _tsk'd_. "We're not talking about being born with a clubbed foot, for Salazar's sake. That's a case of poor breeding, but easily fixed up. Lupin changes into a monster and eats people. That kind of different can't be undone."

His best friend rolled his eyes. "He does not eat people. And really, the point is, do you think people who are born with a…condition…should be faulted for it? Should they be forced to change?"

"Of course. What should happen if they breed? They'll pass the defect onto their kids."

Theo was quiet again. "You mean, you think anyone not like you is defective."

Draco shrugged, never having really considered it before. "I guess. The Malfoys have bred for perfection for centuries."

"I'm not like you."

He glanced sideways at Theo. "Well, of course you're not. You've got dark, wavy hair and purplish-blue eyes."

Theo took a deep breath, seeming to struggle with himself. "No, I mean, I'm _really_ not like you."

Even as he spoke, the most extraordinary thing happened: Theo's hair changed colour to white blond, then to red, then to green, before settling back to its normal shade of chestnut brown.

Draco scrambled back, shocked. "FUCK! What the hell?"

Theo looked hurt by Draco's stunned rejection. "I'm a Metamorphmagus," he whispered, his voice trembling.

It took Draco a good solid minute to come to grips with the fact that his friend was not only different, but that he'd lied to him forever about it. His anger flared. "How long have you known?"

Theo shrugged. "Since birth."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You said it yourself: people who are different are defective or aberrant to you." Theo stared at the wooden floor of the gazebo separating them, his cheeks rose-coloured with his humiliation. "I knew you felt that way, and I never wanted you to see me like that."

Shame flushed through Draco. It was a sensation that had become more and more familiar to him over the years. He'd felt it often whenever he'd let his parents down, when he'd faced his Quidditch teammates after losing the Snitch, and whenever he'd had inappropriate thoughts about Theo. Now, he felt it for hurting his best friend's feelings.

"I don't," he admitted, "see you like that. Okay, it's a bit of a twist, but… Hell, my blood-traitor cousin, Nymphadora is supposedly the same." His father had told him that was because the witch's mother had married a Muggle, but Theo's parents were both old school pure-blood, almost as perfect as the Malfoys. So, what did that mean?

He shook it off, not wanting to go where that line of logic was leading. His father _couldn't_ be wrong.

"So…the hair thing," he said, feeling awkward. "Anything else?"

Theo seemed to hesitate. His hands were fisted in his lap, and his head turned away. "Yeah, but…can we talk about something else? I think…I'll end up angry at you if we continue. Let's just forget the whole thing."

Draco searched his mind for a safe topic. "Um… Father's contacts on the Board of Governors tattled that they'd decided to revive the Tri-Wizard Tournament this year. It's to be held at Hogwarts."

He'd always felt that air of superiority whenever he knew something others didn't. Despite the uncomfortable tension still sitting between them, watching Theo's head swing around and his eyes widen in surprise at the news gave Draco a rush that filled him with energy. His whole body thrummed with the power.

"The Quidditch World Cup _and_ the Tri-Wizard Tournament all in the same year?" Theo asked, seemingly awed. "Wicked!"

Just like that, the weird feelings in the air dissipated, as if they'd never been.

"You are coming to the Cup?" Draco inquired, feeling a bit more confident as he and his friend fell into a familiar rhythm. "Father got us an invitation to share the Minister's luxury box."

Theo was so excited he practically vibrated off the floor. "Are we going to camp, like we talked about? I've always wanted to try out a tent–"

"No," Draco cut him off, disappointed at that fact. "Father says he doesn't want us staying overnight. He won't say why, but I've guessed." He crawled back to his former spot next to Theo and leaned in to whisper a secret. "I overheard him talking to your dad, as well as Pansy's father in the study the other day. They're going to demonstrate against the Minister's pro-Muggle politics. Lead a march, with…masks. You know."

Theo's expression said he clearly didn't know what Draco was talking about. Maybe the guy's father never talked to him about joining the ranks of the Death Eaters someday. He wondered why not, since Draco knew Thaddeus Nott had been a founding member of the group.

Draco had known all about the group, as well as what Mudbloods and blood-traitors were since his tenth birthday, when his father had talked to him about such things…and about 'aberrant behaviour'. He'd been told his duty would one day be to join the prestigious alliance of pure-bloods dedicated to keeping their society free of magical taint by Muggles and Muggle-borns.

But would that mandate require him to also turn his back on Theo for being different?

He considered that hard over the next few days, coming to a conclusion by the time of the Quidditch World Cup that, no matter what, he couldn't harm, or allow harm to come to, his best friend. Theo was a part of him, like his beating heart, and no matter what the guy could do with his magic, he was still Theo underneath the glamours.

The fact was, Draco realised as they huddled together to watch the group of masked Death Eaters march on the camping grounds and burn everything down, Theo had always shared everything with him. Like those Weasley twins, they were inseparable. He wouldn't be half the person he was without him.

Theo made him whole.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire - July, 1995** _

 

"I'm sorry."

Draco felt helpless, watching Theo curled up on his side in his bed, trying and failing to suppress his tears. For all his friend's growth over the past year (he now stood half a head over Draco), the guy looked very small in that moment. It reminded him of when they'd been kids, and Theo's dad would yell at him for hugging or hanging all over Draco, and Draco would watch Theo shrink before his very eyes until he became nearly insignificant.

Tentatively, Draco took a seat on the edge of Theo's bed, next to his best friend, unsure as to what to do to comfort him.

"Did–" He stalled, swallowed, and tried again. "Did your dad tell you how she died?"

"Didn't have to. I was there. I saw it," Theo mumbled, his eyes glazed as he went deep inside and pulled out the awful memories. "Mum was sitting at the table, not eating, just staring at her plate after dad's news that the Dark Lord was back. Then, she shoved her plate into the middle of the table, looked at me and said, 'I'm sorry, but I can't do this again.' She lifted her wand to her temple and _Avada_ 'd herself before my father could disarm her."

Theo curled into himself even tighter, wrapping his arms around his middle, and let out a sharp sob.

"She just…fell, Draco. She fell like...like a slab of beef hitting concrete. Her nose broke. Blood splattered and–"

He choked on his tears, breaking down at long last. It had taken Theo two hours, but he was finally talking and feeling, rather than lying there in a state of dumb shock. Draco wasn't sure which he preferred now, though, watching as Theo began to hyperventilate and shake all over.

"I-I'm s-sorry," Draco stammered, his heart pounding out an unfamiliar rhythm in his chest. It hurt to see his best friend in such pain.

Turning his face into his pillow, Theo screamed. There was so much rage and despair in that one sound that Draco felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He felt his eyes prick with tears of sympathy.

Uncaring of the rule of aberrant behaviour right then, he gave into his compulsion to pull his friend up and into his arms. Theo clung to him like a man drowning, and sobbed into Draco's throat, "She fucking killed herself! She left me, Draco! Left me alone with that…that… _Oh, God, she let me go!_ "

As he'd done when they were children, Draco cradled Theo to him, taking the dominant role. He hushed his friend, and held tightly to him. "She may have, Theo, but I never will. Best friends forever, yeah?"

Theo cried all the harder, pressing his face into Draco's hairline, drenching it with his tears.

That night, Theo came to stay at Malfoy Manor with Draco, Thaddeus Nott having disappeared in his grief and leaving his only son alone. Only he wasn't alone. Draco slept next to Theo in his bed, above the covers, and he held Theo's hand all night long, giving him the only support he could without crossing any solid lines.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

_**Wiltshire - July, 1996** _

 

"You're scared."

Draco gave an anxious nod. "I know I said it was an honour and all that, but the closer it gets to it–"

"–the more you see it was a mistake to bend your knee to a mad man," Theo finished in a whisper.

In less than twenty-four hours, his best friend was going to be indoctrinated as a Death Eater, but this wasn't a conversation to be having out in the open, given how dangerous the world had become, and they both knew it. They hurried through the Malfoy gardens, coming upon their favourite hiding spot, the gazebo, and ducked inside the shelter.

After spelling the space for privacy, they both visibly relaxed, sitting on the built-in bench side-by-side to talk.

The perfume of fully blooming jasmine and roses was particularly strong this hot summer afternoon, permeating the air with a sweet, almost cloying smell, mingling with the scent of their perspiring bodies. Theo grit his back teeth and mentally worked on not letting that particular fragrance turn him on. He wasn't wearing robes today, and it would be obvious if he became aroused, and that would make Draco uncomfortable. His best friend wasn't into blokes.

A scratching noise brought Theo out of his thoughts. Draco was rubbing at his left forearm again, as if he could already feel the symbol of his marked status writhing upon his skin.

"I have to do this, don't I?" his friend asked, the tremor of fear edging his words. "I can't back out."

"Sure you can. Tell your mum," Theo suggested. "Ask her to take you into hiding. Maybe talk to Dumbledore. If anyone could help, it's him."

Draco made a disdainful noise. "That old fool can't stand up to the Dark Lord, and you know it. If he could've, he'd have done so a long time ago." Slowly, he shook his head. "Besides, You-Know-Who asked me to take my father's place after Lucius was arrested. He _asked_ me, Theo. I can't very well say 'no'. No one dares deny such an honour and lives. That's what Aunt Bella says, anyway." He looked down at his impeccably shined Italian leather shoes, resigned. "I have no choice."

They sat in silence together for a long time after that, considering the whole situation.

Theo knew all the ugly details of the Dark Lord's resurrection, his father part of Voldemort's inner circle of trusted toadies. The man had gone on and on during the Christmas and Easter holiday breaks about the triumphant return of his Master and how they were finally going to put those "freak Mudbloods and despicable blood-traitors and dirty Muggles in their place once and for all," and how doing so was going to miraculously bring glory to their family name. _Blah, blah, blah._

Thank Merlin the self-righteous prick had been locked up in Azkaban after the brilliant fiasco in the Department of Mysteries a month ago. Theo couldn't have been happier, really. He had the run of his family home now, and could have anyone over anytime he wanted—not that anyone had come to stay at his gloomy, run-down Manor. Still, for the first time in his life, he'd felt entirely free to live his life on his terms, and the experience was rather sublime.

He seriously considered sending an anonymous fruit basket to Potter in thanks.

"What about you?" Draco asked, finally breaking the quiet moment. "Has your father asked you to, you know, join me tomorrow?"

Smirking, Theo nodded. "I've received exactly one letter from good, old Thad since he was hauled off and caged. Do you know what it said? 'Follow the brat's lead into the dark.' He means you, of course. He's always referred to you as, 'that Malfoy brat'. Terribly clever instruction, though, right? Not at all suspicious or easy to interpret, either—especially by any trained Aurors monitoring the mail." He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, but I have no loyalty to the ideals of 'family honour' or the same sense of duty to my heritage as other pure-bloods do. You may love and idolize your father, Draco, but I despise mine. I refuse to follow in his footsteps."

Draco nodded. "Good. I don't want you to be there, either. Stay clear, in case the Dark Lord decides to 'volunteer' you, too."

Theo put his hand over his friend's as he scratched at his forearm again, stilling the motion and stalling the self-injurious behaviour. "I'll say it again: you don't have to do this. Run away. Be free of all this madness. Live as you want," he gently insisted to Draco. "All you have to do is say 'yes' and I'll arrange everything so you can slip away tonight. I'll even go with you so you won't be alone."

His friend twisted his arm and moved in such a way that he slid out from under Theo's hold, still uncomfortable with being touched by a man. As a result, Theo rarely touched Draco anymore, except to shake his hand or elbow him to get his attention. The hug after his mum's death…he wasn't fooling himself that it had meant anything more than an obligation to their friendship and a show of sympathy.

It hurt to be held at arm's length, but Theo didn't want to scare Draco off, so he usually restrained his natural inclinations. Sometimes though, like just now, he slipped up. Whenever the prohibition on touching was reinforced by Draco with a silent look or a slick move (like just then), it broke Theo's heart all over again, too.

He scooted over, leaning back on the bench and putting some space between him and Draco to try to ease the tension. "I mean it, man," he tried to sound casual, as if being rebuffed hadn't hurt him.

"I know you do, and I appreciate the offer, but I can't run away," Draco replied. "I carry my father's obligations, as all Malfoys do." He looked grim, resolute. "But it's like you said, you're not bound to the same fate, Theo, so I don't want you coming with me tomorrow. I mean it. I want you to stay home and out of harm's way."

Theo sighed, and ran a hand through his long, dark fringe. "You always push me away when you need me the most. You let go when you should be holding tight. It's damned irritating."

His friend bumped his foot against Theo's and smirked. "I'm a Malfoy. We don't need anyone, remember?"

"Well, then, how about _wanting_ someone?" Theo countered, frustrated with the whole situation.

Draco shrugged, staring up at the gazebo's ancient roof, its gables covered in twisty, insidious vines. "That's too dangerous a thing to contemplate during a war. Maybe later, after it's all over."

 

* * *

 

_**Wiltshire – July, 1997** _

 

Draco was so thin and pale it hurt Theo to look at him. Worse, his grey eyes, once so filled with excitement for life, were dull and fearful now. His gaze skittered every which way, he jumped at the tiniest sounds, and he cringed as Theo approached.

No words were necessary; Theo knew Draco's part in the Headmaster's death, and he'd guessed by his best friend's reaction that the plan he'd been secretly working on all year, which he had refused Theo's help to complete, hadn't been executed in a manner that pleased his dark Master.

Advancing upon his friend now, Theo submitted to a more docile temper and voice, much as one might take with a wounded, terrified animal. "It's me. Shhh, it's okay. I'm here now. You're safe."

Draco's eyes filled with tears. "I couldn't kill him," he whispered in shame, as if ending Dumbledore's life would have been an easy task for anyone else. "I failed, Theo. I can't go back."

Kneeling at eye-level with his friend, Theo reached out and gently cupped Draco's cheeks. "Then we'll run, you and me. We'll leave England together. I'm sure that's why Snape brought me to you today. He knows I'm more than willing to go at any time."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Draco seemed torn. "My parents... I can't leave them." He peeked at Theo through his long, dark lashes. "He'll kill them for my desertion."

And Theo knew right then and there he'd lost the bid to convince Draco to leave with him. Where Theo could have cared less whether his father met a fiery doom or not, his best friend loved his twisted, broken parents and he felt too keenly the call of duty to their heritage as well. He would risk everything for Narcissa and Lucius, even his life, as a good pure-blood son was expected to do.

He sighed, resigned to staying as well. Draco still needed him, and that meant he'd put his personal plans on hold to be there for the boy he loved.

Not caring how 'aberrant' or politically incorrect it was right then, Theo drew Draco into his arms and hugged him, trying through touch to let his best friend know he would not face whatever was coming alone. "I'll stand with you when you face him," he offered, feeling a bravery that was atypical for the Slytherin within. Where Draco was concerned, though, he was finding that there were many things he'd be willing to risk. "Whatever it takes, I'll keep you safe."

Draco flung his arms around Theo and sobbed into his friend's shoulder, and through the litany of his terrified babbling, two words kept repeating: "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

That night, he did as Draco had once done for him, and shared his friend's bed, holding onto him as he slept. Snape would tell him later that it was the first time since he'd taken the Mark that Draco had stayed asleep the whole night, without any terrors to disturb his slumber.

It was a pattern the two of them would repeat on occasion throughout the next year to keep the memory demons at bay.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire – July, 1998** _

 

"I'm sorry."

Draco managed to keep his feet under him for precisely four more seconds before his knees gave out, the loss in his chest so heavy that he couldn't breathe past the pain.

Potter was there to catch him, of course, moving fast and with a strength Draco hadn't expected. He helped Draco to sit on the nearby library sofa, rather than crumple into a heap on the floor as grief and despair settled over him and sunk deep.

Draco should have been mortified that he'd allowed his one-time rival to save him yet again, but somehow, he couldn't seem to care about that in the face of the news he'd just received. "You're wrong," he insisted, denying what he'd been told. "He can't be! He can't–"

Potter moved away, and Draco's mother was suddenly there in the guy's place, hugging her son. "I'm sorry, my Dragon, but it's true," she corroborated Potter's claim. "Theodore has been officially declared dead by the Ministry today. I read his name in the morning's paper, along with Dolohov, Selwyn, and Gregory's father."

Shaking his head, he continued to refuse to accept what he was being told, even as a part of him already knew it was true. Theo hadn't come back from the Final Battle, after all. He'd been missing for two months. He hadn't even appeared at Draco's trial, or been there to celebrate his acquittal of all charges. And he'd promised he'd find Draco after everything was over. He'd _promised._

Which meant something had happened to him.

"But his body isn't–" he tried to argue, but was hampered by the giant, ugly lump in his throat. "It hasn't been–"

"Recovered? No, it hasn't," Potter confirmed for him, "but the same is true for a lot of others. In some cases, I don't think we'll ever find out what happened." He reached into an inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a wand. Draco recognised it immediately, even with the dried blood coating its tip. "We found this, though, lying at the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

Potter let that thought end without further explanation, as if realising it wasn't in the best taste to hypothesize aloud that a person might have been eaten alive by a giant arachnid or one of the dozens of dangerous creatures residing in the forest.

"A wizard wouldn't voluntarily leave his wand behind, would he?" he asked as gently as he could, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

With a shaky hand, Draco reached out and took Theo's wand from Potter's hold. The instant the wood touched his skin, he knew the truth. The life energy that had once fueled the wand was gone. It had no owner.

"Oh, God," Draco whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and cradling the wand to his heart. "He's…he's gone!"

Something inside of him cracked open and bled out all over his shoes, dying a silent, awful death. He tried, and failed to hold back a sob.

This hurt worse than losing Vince in that terrible fire, worse than watching the Aurors take his father away in chains to serve a small, greatly-reduced sentence in Azkaban. It hurt worse than anything the paper had said about him and his family or learning of Snape's death. Losing Theo was infinitely more devastating, ruining him from the inside-out, because it was like losing half of his own soul. They'd been brothers of the heart since childhood, as close as two men could be without crossing that final line—and there had been many a time over the years Draco had been tempted to do just that, although he would never admit to such aloud.

"I'm really sorry, Malfoy," Potter said, compassionate in the face of Draco's obvious despair.

It should have grated on Draco to hear such a thing from his former rival's mouth, but right then, he couldn't make himself care. His pride had been shattered by the war, and now this…

Theo's loss undid him completely.

"Thaddeus is sentenced to life in Azkaban, and his mother, Wynona, died when Theodore was still in school," he heard his mother distantly saying, speaking to their guest. "What will be done with his family's holdings? Surely, some relative can be found?"

Potter sighed. "I don't know the details, honestly. I'd heard a rumour, though, that Nott Manor had been left to some cousin from the continent. Apparently, there was a Will. If it's true, she'll have claim to all of his family's property."

The thought of everything that had once been Theo's belonging to someone else suddenly and irrationally enraged Draco. He ground his teeth together. "She can't have this," he snarled gripping Theo's wand tighter and shooting to his feet. "I won't let her have it!"

He ran from the room and up to his bedroom, locking the door behind him.

"I won't let her have it," he vowed, holding the wand out in front of him. The long, decorated bit of Walnut in his hand was really the only piece of Theo that Draco had left aside from his memories, as all of his photos of the two of them had been destroyed in the war, when Mulciber and Rowle had decided to break into Draco's bedroom at the Manor and rifle through his things, destroying and stealing whatever they'd wanted. He refused to give up this last connection between him and Theo.

"I claim this wand. It's mine now!"

As if the wand had been waiting for Draco's declaration, it suddenly gave indication of its new ownership status by bathing him in warmth and light. The energy moved through him, showering him with a sense of rightness that smelled of jasmine and roses, and felt like gentle hugs and true freedom.

He'd lost his old Hawthorn wand to Potter during the last month of the war. It hadn't recognised him as its Master after having been used to defeat Voldemort, and had rejected him when Potter had tried to return it. He'd been wandless since his trial.

Now he had his magic back – and a piece of Theo would be with him forever.

He collapsed to the ground, sobbing, finding no joy or comfort in that fact whatsoever.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

 

_**Wiltshire – July, 1998** _

 

It had taken two, almost three months to get used to his—no,  _her_  new body, but Theo— _Theia_  was finally on track to start her new life: she'd finally gotten her ears pierced last week, had bought a sexy black dress, and had gotten a 'Brazilian' wax job done today, too.

Having spent years observing women and practising their facial expressions and hand gestures and how they walked, he— _she_  had discovered no issues with feminine mimicry. Walking in heels however, that was still proving challenging.

No matter, she'd conquer that, too, in time.

When Theo had planned his 'death' he'd been careful and meticulous, leaving nothing to chance—not even Draco's reaction to the news. Most of all, he'd needed  _that_  to be convincing and real, not just for the Ministry investigation, but for Draco to accept that his  _male_  best friend was now dead.

Although he'd regretted hurting Draco so egregiously, according to the papers, Theo had succeeded in his scheme and was now officially declared dead by the Ministry. His distant, overseas 'cousin', Theia Variel, would be named heir to the vast Nott fortune within the month, and then Theo/Theia would have access to its deep vaults.

–And money, Theo knew well by now, could buy a person anything…including a new life.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire - July, 1999** _

 

"Kiss me."

Under the cloak of a Disillusionment Charm, Theia watched from a hidden nook within Narcissa's rose garden's gazebo as Pansy Parkinson attempted to coax a kiss from Draco.

Just a few minutes before, she'd snuck onto the Malfoy property, past its wards, using the tricks she'd learned when she'd come here in secret in the past as Theo. She'd intended to peep at Draco and learn what he'd been up to over the past year, but this was not a scene she'd expected  _at all_.

Her heart twisted in her chest as she watched Draco easily give into Pansy's demand with a nonchalance that was almost eerie. She noted the deadened expression in his eyes, the stiff formality in his movements, and the lack of passion in his acquiescence.

The kiss had all the excitement of cardboard.

Apparently, Pansy was aware of her partner's lack of interest. She broke the kiss, tensed with indignation, raised her hand, and then brought it down with some force. The crack of her palm across Draco's cheek was loud, and the hit turned his head. Draco seemed completely unfazed, however, as if he'd expected such a reaction and yet couldn't be bothered to care. He hadn't even really winced at the blow, as if even that pain was nothing to him.

"You poor, dumb bastard," Pansy growled. "You're still not over him, are you?"

Theia felt all the blood drain from her face.

Him? Draco was attracted to a  _man?_  Since when?

Throwing her hands up in the air, Pansy shook her head and started to stomp off. She stopped and turned back around, marching right back into Draco's space, sputtering like a mad kitten. "You need to let him go, move on. I thought our little intervention in April worked, but you're still the same: like an Inferius, walking around without a soul. It's been–"

"I know how long it's been," Draco interrupted her, his voice as calm as could be, but equally as indifferent as the rest of him.

All of the anger seemed to drain right out of Pansy, like someone had turned a tap within her emotions, releasing all of her despondency. It ran all down the length of her body to form a puddle at her feet. Her shoulders slumped and her head bowed, and there were tears in her voice. "You'll die if you keep on like this, Draco. Don't you see? You'll die, and then what will Greg, Blaise, and I do? We've already lost Vince and Millie and… _him_  in the war _._  Daphne's moved to Russia to be with her new husband's family. Our snake's circle is getting smaller. You were always the centre of it all. We need you back!"

Something changed in Draco's face then. Like a light turning on, there was a paradigm shift of just the tiniest amount, enough to cause Draco to reach out and wrap his arms around Pansy, and to embrace her with feeling. He hugged her as he used to do with Theo when they'd been children.

"I'm sorry," he offered his former girlfriend. "I'll...try, okay?"

Pansy nodded, hugging Draco back. "You'd better."

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Theia nodded. Draco was going to be okay. Whatever had changed him into this zombie of a man—the outcome of the war, most likely—it seemed he was going to be fine. He had Pansy, and Blaise, and Greg, and his parents.

Theia wasn't needed here after all.

With painful reluctance, Theia turned away, determined to try to get on with her new life without dragging Draco into it. Apparently, her best friend had moved on with this mysterious man Pansy had spoken of, and now it was too late for Theo to go back, too, to try to pick up where he and Draco had left off.

Maybe it was better this way, though...better to just let go.

 

* * *

_**Wiltshire - July, 2000** _

 

Sitting on the porch swing, enjoying the summer morning breeze coming off the ocean, Theia opened the Sunday Edition of  _The Daily Prophet_  and began skimming through it, keeping up on the news in the wizarding world, despite having very little contact with it of late.

It seemed the Chudley Canons, coached by Oliver Wood, had actually won their last several games, and they were now considered serious contenders for the English Cup. That was a nice change up for them.

Ernie, the old driver of the Knight Bus was retiring at long last. There was a party planned for him later that month by Magical Transportation to send the old coot off in style.

She chuckled reading that Gringotts had put out a Public Relations spread in conjunction with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to reassure its customers that magical creatures were no longer held captive in their deep, subterranean vault system. After that mess with the dragon during the war, they'd decided upon a strict policy to prohibit live guardians, and had been working with the new Ministry since to clean up their act.

The Minister announced some new reforms for Azkaban.

_Blah, blah, blah._

She flipped to the gossip section, wondering if there would be any juicy news regarding possible Death Eater suicides again this month...and nearly dropped the paper in surprise at the half-page spread on Draco.

The picture was of Theia's best friend out on a date with Daphne Greengrass' younger sister, Astoria, as they sat eating dinner in some swanky restaurant. Clearly, the photo had been taken without permission, as the two people in the picture had no clue they were being captured on film. Draco and Astoria were seated across from each other, and Draco was twirling a wineglass and sipping from it, as his date blabbed on and on about something that seemed of the utmost importance to her. The image played over and over. The headline below the picture read,  _"Malfoy Heir Woos Int'l Co-op Head's Daughter"_. The subtext under it speculated,  _"Sly Political Manoeuvering or a Legitimate Romance?"_

Theia put the paper down, went back inside her little cottage, and got a drink of water to whet her suddenly dry mouth.

What had happened to the mystery man Draco had been interested in? She'd thought...

It took her another half-hour of pacing and internal arguing before she decided to go read the actual article. It seemed Draco had been dating Astoria for three months already, and the two had been spotted in various locales around the U.K. and France, shopping and on dates. This recent picture had been taken in a Paris restaurant just the night before, and the author of the piece, a Betty Braithwaite (protégé of Rita Skeeter), made a not-so-subtle suggestion that Draco might be intending to win his family's political influence back by marrying into the Greengrasses, who had never sided with Voldemort during the war and were therefore considered one of the few 'respectable' pure-blood families still in existence.

Regardless of Draco's motives, Theia knew that if her former best friend and Astoria continued to see each other for a total of six months, there would be a match made between the families, per custom. He was half-way to fulfilling that familial duty he'd always gone on and on about back during their school days.

That was good, right? It meant Draco was doing well, and had a chance at a life of merit. It meant he'd have fulfilled his life's purpose of marrying a perfect pure-blood bride with an inheritance, and producing an heir. It meant he didn't need Theia coming around, poking her nose where it didn't belong, and mucking up his chances at happiness.

Right?

As she glanced at the picture again, she honed in on the small details that only someone who really knew Draco would recognise. His eyes were unfocussed, glazed. Clearly, he wasn't listening to Astoria's droning on and on. He was also frowning and somewhat stiff, and when he sipped at the wine, it was more like he was gulping it down, hoping to drown out his situation with a solid alcohol buzz.

Draco didn't want to be there. He clearly didn't care for Astoria, either. There was no passion in his gaze, no interest whatsoever in his partner.

Theia would bet her knickers that the reporter's conjecture had been spot-on and Draco was with the youngest Greengrass merely to make a political match. But...but...Draco deserved more. He deserved a love match with a witch who would cherish him and give him what he needed.

Theia could give him…

No, she couldn't. She couldn't have children. As a Hermaphroditic Metamorphmagus, she was unable to reproduce no matter how she could alter her form and sex. Whether as a man or a woman, Theia/Theo was unable to reproduce.

That little fact was the death of her hope, as Draco was looking to marry for heirs, not just wealth and social positioning. It didn't matter that Theia loved Draco enough to have shed her old life as a man, taking on the form and persona she currently wore, and it didn't matter she had Willed the Nott inheritance into her own hands upon Theo's "death", and it didn't matter that she could convince the world that she was a witch of power, with her new wand in hand and Theo's talents under her belt. All of that was not enough. She would never be what Draco needed.

She would never have him, would she?

She stared at the photo again, running a fingernail lovingly over Draco's features. If only she'd been born a 'real' woman, they would have been perfect for each other.

Tears fell onto the newspaper, blurring her best friend's image, blurring the world.

 

* * *

 

"This one."

Draco pointed his wand at the dried up bud and brought the dead rose back into full bloom. Given it was the end of October, such a feat should have been beyond him, but Theo's old wand had an affinity for creating miracles, especially of the healing kind.

Snipping the blushing, revitalized rose, he then used his wand to remove its thorns and excess stems. When it was perfect, he brought it to his nose. No, he wouldn't give this one to his new fiancée when he went to visit Astoria later that evening. It was too sweet for her, and besides, it reminded him of someone else…

Images of his childhood were instantly conjured by the lovely fragrance, bringing with them a sharp ache in Draco's chest: running with Theo through the paths between the prickly bushes filled with such dangerous beauty, and lying in the middle of the gazebo on their backs, side by side, staring up at the vine-covered ceiling and talking about their childish desires and dreams. Back then, Draco had wished for ridiculous things: a new broom, to be famous someday, to go skiing in the Alps. Theo had only ever voiced one wish: to be with Draco forever.

At the time, Draco had thought Theo's request a foolish one, because he'd always believed they'd be together, that nothing would separate them.  _He'd_  been the fool.

As he re-entered the Manor from the back entrance, he headed down the long hallway, intending to go up to his room and engage in his favourite pastime: moping. Instead, his family's house-elf, Fletcher, was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs that led up into the private suites and seemed anxious and excited to talk to him.

"Master has a visitor! Fletcher shows Master's guest into the Sitting Room, as Master prefers."

Draco frowned. He hadn't been expecting anyone, especially during the middle of a weekday. "Who is it, Fletcher?" He waved his hand, uncaring as to the identity of his unannounced visitor. "Never mind. Tell them I'm too busy and to leave their card. I'll call on them later."

The elf pulled at his long ears, a gesture of anxiousness. "Fletcher doesn't mean to disagree with Master, but Fletcher really thinks the Master will want to see this guest."

Sighing with irritation, Draco yielded. Better to get this over and done with so the blasted elf would leave him in peace. He stomped down the hallway, rounded the corner, and headed into the Sitting Room.

An unfamiliar woman was standing at the window, looking out. When Draco entered, she turned.

Draco's heart flipped over in his chest.

It was like looking at Theodore Nott's female fraternal twin, if he'd had one. Same features, same eyes, only sculpted by feminine beauty the likes of which had Draco's blood rushing through his system. In his back pocket, Draco's wand began to vibrate, as if it was excited by the stranger, too.

The woman's shy, hesitant smile utterly beguiled him.

"Hello, Draco."

The rose he'd been holding onto slipped from Draco's fingers, and his whole body began shaking. Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision.

"Theo?"

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**PART TWO**

.

_**Wiltshire - July, 2001** _

 

Draco's gaze roamed over his best friend from head to toe, taking in every delicious curve and every tantalizing glimpse of her skin. He noted the flush of desire painting Theia's perfect skin, its presence stamped upon her face and defined by the tension in her shoulders and hips...

_"I want it to be you, Draco."_

Salazar's balls, he was actually considering such lunacy! Taking his best friend up on her offer to fuck away her virginity was a temptation the likes of which he'd never known before. In that mouth-watering dress she was wearing tonight, he was finding a lot of reasons to say 'yes'.

"Draco, did you hear me?"

"I... yeah," he mumbled, his tongue feeling like it had been tied in knots. She'd shocked him with her proposition, and he was feeling like he'd been knocked for a six, much as he had the day Granger had slapped him silly in third year. His life was a bit surreal at the moment, and he was finding it difficult to think with any sort of clarity.

"Then look at me, please."

He obeyed Theia without question.

Glancing into her upturned face, he was again trapped by the genuine desire in her eyes. It called out to him, stirring his lust...and igniting fear.

"Draco, I meant it," she whispered, leaning closer. "I want to be with you tonight. Do you want the same?"

Oh, hell, she was too close. Too  _fucking_  close!

Draco knew he had to pull back now, while he still had the strength, or he'd do something completely, irrevocably stupid—like kiss her right here, in front of everyone, including his fiancée, Astoria.

"I...I can't," he stammered, his heart crawling up his throat, his blood roaring in his ears.

He muttered a quick apology, turned, and fled.

He stumbled away from the wedding rehearsal party, seeking an escape from the sweltering heat in the room and the endless gossip and the devious politicking. He ran from the lies and the scheming and the backtalk...and from honest indigo-blue eyes and lips begging to be kissed. Heading out onto the open veranda through the French doors, he fled before the pressures of deceit and temptation, seeking solace in his family's garden.

Air, he needed air.

Far from the clinking of glasses and silverware, and from idle chatter, he hid out in the gazebo amongst the magically charmed night-blooming jasmine and his mother's prized roses. A cool, spring breeze ruffled through his hair and did wonders to wash the scent of soft sandalwood and bubbly champagne from his nose. With shaky hands, he leaned over the wooden railing and took deep, cleansing breaths.

This madness had to stop. The twisted obsession he'd had going on for his best friend ever since she'd come back into his life nine months ago was a toxic cocktail for his sanity, sometimes driving him closer and closer towards his breaking point, at other times devouring him bit by bit until he was a hollowed out husk of his former self. He felt ambushed by these unexpected feelings he'd been experiencing for Theia, at times unable to prevent them from dragging him into dark places and mugging him of his rationality.

He had to let her go.

Ironically, he still didn't know how to do that.

Just three years ago, when Theo had supposedly died, Draco had taken the news badly, letting his grief nearly consume him. It had almost been his end having to accept that Theia _—Theo, then—_ was gone. His loss had been the devastating final straw in a rash of misfortune to plague the Malfoys, and Draco had drowned himself in hard drink and in tears, and in days spent sleeping and not eating or bathing to compensate. His depression had gotten so bad that by month nine his mother had staged an intervention, pulling in Pansy, Blaise, and Greg to talk him down from the ledge. It had still taken a long time after for him to decide to really live again.

Given that, how could he now be expected to set these feelings he had for Theo _—Theia—_ aside a second time, and how could he realistically find the strength to leave her untouched after what had just been asked of him?

_"I want it to be you, Draco."_

God, he wanted her! The fantasy of thrusting deep inside her body and ridding them both of their unwanted burdens was so strong all of the muscles in his abdomen and thighs tensed. He wanted to own Theia as no one ever had, or would thereafter. And he wanted his first time to be hers, too. That way, he could have one good memory to carry with him through the next eighty, lonely years of his life.

If he couldn't have her forever, one night was better than nothing, right?

Doing it, though, would make him crave even more of what he could never have. It would break his heart, and that could, quite possibly, send him over the edge he'd previously dodged.

"Oh, Christ, someone stop me," he begged, running his shaking hands over his face and through his hair, pushing his long fringe from his eyes. He tilted his head and stared up at the waxing moon so high in the sky's cradle. "Stop me before I do it and destroy us both!"

 

* * *

 

Theia's heart had sunk into her silver polished toes at the panicked look in Draco's eyes just moments ago. She'd known the second he'd rabbitted for the back exit that she'd made a huge mistake in confessing her feelings to him, for clearly, he didn't return them.

She'd nearly burst into tears on the spot at the rejection. Only pride had kept the waterworks in until she'd managed to find an empty bathroom down the hall to duck into. Then, she'd let loose. Quietly, of course.

Why had she opened her mouth at all? She'd  _known_  that what she'd been hoping for was simply too much to ask of him. Still, she'd taken Hermione's advice and bucked up her courage, knowing tonight was quite possibly her last chance to have Draco.

Now she'd ruined everything.

"Draco," she whispered, sniffling and staring off into space. "I'm so sorry."

Selfish. That's what she was. She'd only thought of her own needs and wants when she'd presented him with her request, and hadn't considered how her appeal might just devastate him. Draco had counted on her for friendship during these dark times in his life, and instead, she'd confessed her love for him.

Still, was it so wrong to want her best friend to be the man to initiate her into true adulthood? She'd been dreaming for years of him holding and kissing her with the same spirit of tenderness she knew was hidden underneath all that talk of family duty and Lucius' hateful brainwashing. She'd wanted him even before she'd discovered the beauty of the feminine form, when she'd still hid within the body of a man named 'Theodore'. The truth was, she'd wanted Draco Malfoy her whole life, and now she was going to lose him—not just to some spoiled, pureblood princess whose political connections would guarantee the Malfoy name would regain some measure of respectability, but also to her own selfishness.

Crying was cathartic. It was therapeutic in a way that alcohol could never be. Theia indulged for a bit longer, before cleaning up with her wand and heading back out to face the music.

 _Chin up,_  she pepped herself, squaring her shoulders, sliding her emotional grid firmly back into place.

Trying to act more like her new friend Hermione Granger was harder than she'd thought it would be, especially as Theia had been sorted a Slytherin back in her school days and being brave didn't come naturally to her, as it did to a Gryffindor. As Theia's Healer at St. Mungo's, Hermione was the only other person aside from Draco who knew the truth of Theodore Nott's "death" during the war and of Theia's secret double life.

It was ironic really that the two people Theia loved best had been mortal enemies at one time. It was as if the dichotomy of her life was played out at every angle, in a variety of ways.

"Oh, it's you."

Theia closed the door to the bathroom and turned around to find Draco's fiancée, Astoria, with that same bitter-lemons look on her face.

"Astoria," she greeted with cool affectedness.

The pudgy witch looked particularly unattractive tonight, Theia thought with smugness as she took in the woman's outfit. The tight, pink frock Astoria wore was too short, covered in too much lace, and cut all wrong for her sausage-like shape. The ballet slippers she'd paired with the outfit were a poor choice as well, especially for someone who was squat as Astoria was built, as they did nothing to bolster her height. The entire costume was reminiscent of a circus performer's get-up, with its yards of tulle fluffing up the edges of the skirt.

Sadly, the unflattering image wasn't helped by Astoria's natural physical features. The witch reminded Theia of one of those hideous children's dolls, with chubby cheeks, big, dark eyes, petulant lips, and platinum blonde hair styled in falling ringlets. The ever-present glimmer in the woman's gaze, however, was as far from an innocent child's as could be; it spoke of a maliciousness that ran deep and had a person's intuition screaming to never to turn your back on her first.

The bitch would drain Draco dry, in every sense of the word, if she could.

"I was looking for  _my_  fiancé," Astoria explained in an offhand manner, intentionally playing with the engagement ring on her left hand in a not-so-subtle reminder that she was the wife-soon-to-be and that this party was for her tonight. "They're to make the formal toast at ten on the dot, and I want to be sure he's sober and presentable for the cameras. It wouldn't do for him to appear otherwise." She glanced around, a bit flustered at the idea of having lost track of her meal ticket. "Have you seen Draco?"

The temptation to shove Astoria into the bathroom behind her and use a permanent locking charm on the door was so strong that Theia had to force the hand holding her clutch purse, where her wand was hidden, behind her back to keep it out of reach of her wand arm. She was  _trying_  to be more like the virtuous, upstanding Hermione, but when it came to Astoria Greengrass, Theo/Theia's Slytherin instincts kicked in every time. From the get-go, she hadn't liked the stuck-up, self-indulgent witch, and that initial impression had not changed over the years.

So, instead of hexing the woman's hair to fall out, Theia did the other thing that came naturally to her whenever this witch was concerned: she lied.

"I just saw him not ten minutes ago heading out of the ballroom towards the front of the house. Now that you mention it, he did look a bit green in the face. Might have been all those Firewhiskys he downed along with the Champagne. I wouldn't be surprised to find him in an upstairs bathroom praying to a 'porcelain god' right about now."

Astoria's dainty jaw clenched with indignation. Her prohibition on Draco's indulging in alcohol was well-known, and Theia exploited that knowledge now to upset the woman and send her flying into a tizzy.

"He'd better be suffering the flu!" the other woman hissed in rage, gripping the edges of her dress as if she would tear at them. Her features distorted with anger, and her cheeks bloomed red, making her even uglier than before. "If that no-good slouch is not sober enough to stand for tonight's toast, Father will have something to say about it! I'll not tolerate a drunkard for a husband!"

Jealousy burned a hole through Theia's chest at Astoria's casual reference to Draco as her husband, as if he were her toy to play with as she chose. This snotty brat didn't deserve to have him, and Theia knew her best friend didn't care for Astoria in the least. There was no love there, only a marriage of convenience.

If only there was any way she could stop their farce of a marriage...

_"Sometimes people just need to be reminded of what they'll lose out on when they're being stubborn."_

Hermione always gave the best advice. The woman was brilliant.

"You should look for him and give him an ear-full," Theia advised, pretending solidarity. "No man should ever be allowed to embarrass his witch with such inappropriate behaviour, especially at their pre-wedding rehearsal party! Tonight's for you, after all, and he has no right to spoil your shining moment." She offered false, but completely convincing sympathy, even going so far as to place a comforting hand on the other woman's shoulder. "If it were me, I'd start on the bottom floors and work my way up until I cornered him."

Not the brightest wand in the stack, Astoria hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Yes, you're right. I won't let him ruin my moment by appearing at our party soused. I'll find him, cast a Sobering Charm on him, and bring him to heel even if I have to Imperius him to behave from here on out!" She stepped away, preparing to launch on her crusade. "If you find him first, please keep him locked up someplace where no one else will see him in such a disgraceful state. It wouldn't do to have him embarrassing me further."

Theia kept her crossed fingers behind her back and gave the other woman a placating smile. "Of course."

The two women headed off in opposite directions, Theia heading towards the French doors leading into the back of the house where she'd last seen Draco go, as Astoria headed towards the front foyer to begin her fruitless search.

 

* * *

 

"Draco? Are you here?"

Draco's heart skipped three beats at the soft, husky voice calling out to him from within the garden. Should he answer? The gazebo was their secret spot and as private as it got back here.

If they were alone in the same space...

"Draco?"

Theia was just beyond the hedge. He could hear the clip of her heels on the slate path. All he had to do was open his mouth and reply, and it would summon her to his side.

"Draco, please, we should talk."

His best friend was right. They needed to talk, to clear the air, and to put this impossible desire they felt for each other to rest. He ran a hand through his fringe again, took a deep breath, and sighed. He could do this. He could look at her and not need her as more than a friend.

He  _had_  to do this.

"I'm here, Theia."

The  _clip-clip-clip_  of her shoes came closer, and then they hurried up the short, three wooden steps of the gazebo entrance. Abruptly, Theia stopped, and he knew she was standing just inside the small rotunda, most likely considering what taking those few steps inside would change between them forever. Draco kept his back to her at first, working up the courage to face her.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, her voice quavering. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Steadying his nerve, he turned around to face her…and nearly went to his knees with longing.

From the moment Theia had walked through the ballroom doors earlier that evening, Draco hadn't been able to stop staring at her in that beautiful, elegant gown—at the slit that rode up the side of it, revealing one gorgeous, long leg, and the silver, beaded halter top that cupped her unbound, perfectly-shaped breasts. The dress was backless, open to the sway of her hind, and her long curly hair fell like a curtain over the exposed skin, as if to tease a man's lust.

It wasn't the outfit alone, however, that had his body roaring with arousal. It was the woman, herself. Even as shy and unsure as she appeared just then, she was still his absolute ideal: tall, exquisitely formed, with a unique blending of innocence and naughtiness in the pout of her lips and in the glow of her eyes.

It was Theo's face, only a feminized version.

Strangely, that didn't seem to deter his feelings, as he'd expected it might.

"Theia, I…"

How could he explain how much he'd come to love her? There were no words to describe it.

When she'd been Theodore, they'd been closer than boon companions, walking that dangerous edge between friendship and something more, but never crossing it. There had been boundaries, unspoken understandings that there would be no crossing over. They'd both known that Draco wasn't supposed to be attracted to men, and anyways, their society was rather intolerant and unforgiving of the idea. Besides, pure-blood custom dictated he keep himself chaste for his future wife, whoever his parents decided upon him, and everyone knew that Draco was a man who valued tradition.

All of that had mattered back then and had worked in concurrence to keep the lines from blurring between him and Theo.

Then, Theo had up and gotten himself killed in the war, or so Draco had believed, and everything after that had changed. He'd begun to regret not reaching out and grabbing hold of Theo by the neck, dragging him down and kissing him as he'd wanted. He'd lamented the lost opportunities and was shamed by his cowardice. He'd always known how Theo had swung, had even known his best friend loved him in more than a platonic manner, but Draco had never allowed either of them to act on what they'd both secretly wanted.

That remorse had hollowed him out and had left behind an incessant ache that had slowly drained him of his will to live. Every breath had seemed a burden, the walk from his room to the dining table when he did eat, an exhausting labour not worth the effort. There had been days he'd wondered how it would feel to turn his wand on himself, as Theo's mother had done at her darkest moment.

Just as he'd been nearing the end of his rope, ready to commit to drinking a draught that would put him out of his misery forever, his meddling mother and irritating friends had stepped in. They'd reminded him of his duties to his family, and of his debt to their society. They'd made him admit out loud that Theo was dead...and as those words had passed his lips, he'd cried as he never had in the entirety of his life.

Filling the shell of his life back in after that had proven to be the hardest battle he'd ever fought, but he'd tried. He'd owed his parents and his friends that much. He'd accepted his mother's choice of Astoria Greengrass for his future bride, and had been home to greet his father as the man was released on parole from Azkaban, his already lenient sentence reduced in light of his good behaviour.

He'd been the good son again, and for a time, it had been enough.

Then, nine months ago, after the official announcement of his engagement to Astoria hit the newspapers, a witch named Theia Variel had suddenly appeared. And in that moment, he'd accepted what his intuition and his overly-excitable wand had both told him: that she and Theo were the same.

His best friend was not dead…and he'd come back to him in a different form.

Sitting with Theia that whole afternoon had felt like coming home. Draco had sat enraptured by her face and her voice, comfortable with her in a way he hadn't been with another since the last time he'd been with Theo. She'd told him a strange tale about a wizard she claimed to know who had been born with both male and female sex organs  _and_  with a rare combination of magical talents which had allowed him to take whatever shape he'd wanted. Theia had identified the condition as "Intersex Shape-Shifting," but she'd said Healers and Magical Being experts referred to the extraordinary subset of people as Hermaphroditic Metamorphmagi.

She'd explained that this anonymous friend of hers had been birthed with both sexes, but he'd been crammed from the beginning into the body of a male by his harsh and unforgiving father, who had required an heir of the 'appropriate' gender. She'd then revealed to him the traumatic emotional and physical abuse her friend had endured at the hands of his father throughout his childhood, as the man had beat the lesson of absolute secrecy about his 'condition' into his son.

The beatings had grown worse with age, as the father had expected his son to take the Dark Mark like so many other sons of pure-blood families had done. When the young wizard had refused the 'honour', his father had escaped his confinement in Azkaban, come home, and cursed his son with the Cruciatus until the boy's eyes, nose, and ears had bled. After that, the young wizard had known he had to get out from under his father's sway one way or another, and that time was not his on his side in the matter. He'd known he'd have to fake his death and take on the identity of someone else. So, he'd left in the middle of the Final Battle of Hogwarts, dropping his wand at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and borrowing a downed Death Eater's wand to Disapparate to a cottage he'd purchased under a pseudonym weeks earlier in preparation. He'd hoped he'd be considered one of the 'missing, presumed dead' so his father would never come looking for him if the old man survived the war.

There, in his small house by the sea, the young wizard had stayed out of sight and incognito, trying to start his life over.

" _Why didn't you…he…tell me any of this? I'd have helped him!" Draco argued._

_Theia gave him a funny, sad smile. "The young wizard was afraid that as anyone helping him would be targeted by his father, perhaps even tortured to death, if his father thought any friends might know where his son was hiding. No, it was better for him to just…go away and be undone."_

" _It wasn't easier for me!"_

_Theia's hand on his arm was warm and soft through the fabric of his shirt, just as Theo's hands had always been. "I'm sorry that you were so hurt. I'm here to make things right, though."_

They'd fallen into an easy rhythm after that. Theia and he would meet every couple of days for coffee or lunch, sometimes for dinner. On weekends, they'd occasionally take in a Quidditch match, or have a picnic, or take a trip to the beach. They'd enjoyed taking a broom ride on a long distance flight at least once a month together, their destination unimportant, as the journey had proved to be the fun part. They'd once even gone to Diagon Alley together to shop, but they'd run into Astoria's mother while there and it had been a most unpleasant experience explaining why Draco was running around with a woman other than his fiancée, and so he and Theia had avoided the heart of London after that.

Their attachment was not limited to being together, either. When they were separated, they Floo-called or sent notes via owl, and they'd wished each other 'good night' via Patronus.

In nine short months, Theia had filled in the blank spaces of Draco's life, giving him back his best friend and teaching him to live again. Their connection this time around was as strong as it had been when they'd been younger, only now it was a different kind of friendship – happier, deeper, and uninhibited. The gender barrier that had existed between he and Theo was absent, and there was a kind of dangerous freedom to that fact. Where before there was no allowance for lingering touches and sideways glances, now there were those things in spades, not to mention provocative innuendo and flirting. There was also a strong desire to kiss Theia, to touch every inch of her skin, to discover her feminine secrets…to be with her in every sense of the word.

Her reappearance in his life was both a blessing and a curse because it eased Draco at the same time as it made him anxious. She made him question everything and made him want in a way he never had before.

And therein lay the crux of the problem: he was in love with a woman he couldn't marry.

His engagement to Astoria was iron-clad; the prenuptial papers had already been signed, sealed, and filed with the Ministry. Astoria's dowry had been spent to throw tonight's lavish party and next weekend's wedding, as it had been intended. If he backed out now, his family would lose the little bit of social respect they'd managed to scrape together from his engagement, and the Greengrasses would assure the Malfoys would be financially ruined as well.

He had no choice but to marry Astoria, which meant he couldn't have Theia, no matter how much he wanted her.

It was time to be a man and face that harsh fact.

"Theia, I appreciate the courage it took to make me such an offer as-" He cleared his throat and kept his hands firmly clenched behind the small of his back, fighting to hold himself together. "-being your first lover, but I'm marrying Astoria "

"Whom you don't love!" she countered.

He clenched his jaw as she stepped fully into the gazebo, walking towards him with a natural grace. Her lovely, exotic perfume, scenting of sandalwood and some other light, musky fragrance, floated into the enclosed space and made its way up his nose.

His arousal pounded in response.

"Even if you don't feel anything deeper for me than friendship, please don't make this mistake, Draco," she pleaded. "Astoria's a horrible bitch, and you deserve better."

Resolved to keep even a bit of what little honour he had left, he denied her again. "Not all of us can change our lives so easily, Theia. I was born with this face and this name. I am a Malfoy and have a duty to perform in regards to carrying on my family's traditions. I have no choice."

"Just as you had no choice when you took the Dark Mark?" she challenged. "You know that's not true! You've always had choices, Draco. You've just always allowed others to make them for you."

He stepped back, as shocked by her words as if she'd physically slapped him with them.

She boldly stepped forward, refusing to let him shy away.

In her heels, Theia was the perfect height for their lips to reach without much of a stretch. She knew it, and used it to her advantage, bringing her tempting mouth within kissing distance as she closed the last of the space between them.

"Be free with me," she whispered, looking up at him with smoky eyes and painted lashes. Her hand landed on his chest, just above his heart, and he was sure she could feel the traitorous organ hammering away under muscle and bone. "Let me take you away from here to a place where we can start over together. Choose to be happy with me, Draco."

Draco's lungs were working like mad as he struggled for air. "Theia…I...I'll hurt you. I don't want to hurt you!"

She was too close again. Too  _fucking_  close!

"Be undone with me," she whispered the moment their lips at long last touched.

He'd tried so hard to do the respectable thing for once in his damned life, but he'd never been one to deny himself what he'd really wanted for long—not power, not possessions, not sweets. Theia was his greatest temptation, a desire of the soul. There was simply no denying her any longer.

He'd lost this fight the moment he'd met her in the Sitting Room nine months before.

 

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Gripping her arms in a bruising hold, Draco pulled Theia in tight, opening his mouth and taking her kiss. She moaned, relaxing into his arms, and he lost himself in loving her.

Her pulse tasted sweet against his tongue, and as he bared them to the moonlight, her lovely nipples were taut and ripe as his lips and teeth grazed over them. Her skin was softer than he'd imagined it would be as he revealed every inch of it, and she was bare between her legs when he touched her there with trembling fingers. He teased her desire, swallowing her small cries, urging her to be quieter as he brought her to the edge and released her tension.

Then, laying her back on the gazebo's bench, he caressed every inch of bare skin with his hands and mouth. No place was taboo, everything was sacred. He worshipped it all.

Frantically, he worked his clothes off until he was bare-chested and his trousers were opened enough to free his length. Sitting on the edge of the bench, he pulled Theia up into his arms, and placed her over his lap. Holding himself in a tight, firm fist, he bade her sink down onto him. With their mouths a mere breath apart, and their gazes locked, Theia did as he asked, giving herself to him.

There was no regret in her eyes, only heat and joy as they came together.

They moved slowly, and Draco's heart was filled with white, hot pleasure as he lost his virginity to the only person he'd ever loved like this. He took Theia's gift in return and cherished it, holding her tightly to him as she settled down upon him. They stilled after that, adjusting to the feel of their bodies so intimately connected, nuzzling each other and shyly asking after the other's comfort.

When Theia was ready, Draco let her find a rhythm that was comfortable and felt good for both of them. In the moonlight, he watched her as she moved up and down upon him, marvelling over her perfection. She was tight and wet, and more beautiful than anything he'd ever laid eyes on, and he wished with all his heart that this moment could last forever.

When he reached up to cup one firm breast and stroke over its nipple, she gasped and tossed her head back. He kissed the offering of her throat, and whispered to her with encouragement and love.

It was over far too soon in his estimation. He'd wanted hours, but instead he'd gotten mere minutes. All it had taken was her pulsing and rippling around him and a small cry of his name, and she'd dragged him with her over the edge. His seed poured from him in swells that seemed never-ending, filling her up and draining him completely.

Exhausted, they slumped against each other, embracing as if they'd never let go. Their breathing eventually synched, as did their heart rates, and Draco felt drowsy and content...

"I love you."

Theia's tearful confession destroyed his peace.

 

* * *

 

They'd dressed in silence, and he wouldn't look at her.

Theia pulled her clothing back into place, but her hands were shaking too much for her to re-button her halter.

It had been a mistake, hadn't it? She'd miscalculated. Her desperate gamble hadn't paid off; Draco would not be altering the course of his life just because she'd thrown her virginity at him. This had been a beautiful, one-time affair, but it hadn't been enough to change his mind.

Tears wavered before her eyes, as she realised that this had not been a new beginning for them, but a goodbye. Draco was going to let her go, just as he'd let Theo go.

Wasn't there anything she could do or say to change things?

"I'm sorry," she stammered, thinking that if she owned up to her intentional seduction of him that maybe such honesty might be enough to win his forgiveness. "I shouldn't have... It was wrong of me to push this. I...took advantage of you."

Gentle fingers, warm and still smelling of her womanly musk, gathered her thick mane of dark hair and pulled it to the side. Draco helped her to fasten her halter back into place. "Don't apologise." His warm lips kissed her shoulder, paused, and then continued trailing kisses up the side of her neck to her ear. "You didn't take advantage of me. Quite the opposite, in fact. You did nothing wrong, Theia. None of this is your fault." He gathered her into his arms, turning her and holding her to his heart. "It's mine. I knew better."

Theia laid her head on his shoulder and fought to check her tears. "Please," she tremulously whispered, "don't marry her."

She could feel Draco's chest cave inward as his breath hitched. His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. "If it were just me affected by that choice, I wouldn't. But there's my mother and father to consider. They've sacrificed so much for me, bargaining with the Ministry for leniency after the war and taking my punishment on their shoulders in trade. And they were there to keep me from killing myself when I was at my bleakest moment—mother with her intervention, father with his incessant letters from prison. They arranged this match for me to try to help me move on with my life. They've sacrificed so much for me. If I walked away from Astoria now, they would pay for my selfishness. This marriage is the only way for them to hold their heads up in public again. I  _can't_  betray their faith in me."

He held her tighter, hiding his face in her curls. "Don't you see? This is always how it was always going to end for me, Theia. I was born to serve the purpose of marrying and producing an heir—to bring respect and power to my family's name. I've never had a choice. I carry my father's obligations–"

"–as all Malfoys do. I know!" Theia cried into the soft, silken fabric of his black dress robes. "But I  _changed_  for you, Draco! I changed everything just to be with you!"

"I know." Draco's voice was choked with emotion as well. "And if I could change for you, and no one would be hurt by it, I would. I'd give anything for that possibility." He let out a small, resigned sigh. "But this is how it has to be. I'm not free to be with you."

"It's not fair," she railed, digging her fingernails into his shoulders as if trying to sink herself deep into him so he'd never let her go. "I waited, I hoped... In every way, you've been  _mine_  first!"

Her lover kissed her cheek with such tenderness that it broke her heart all over again. "I'm glad I gave it all to you," he admitted, "and I'm thankful you gave yourself to me. I'll carry these last nine months, and this night in particular, around with me my whole life, Theia. I'll never forget any of it."

"Please, I...I'll change into whatever you want," she tried one last time, dropping all pretence at pride. She clung to his robes, her knees shaking as violently as her heart. She sobbed as she begged. "I'll be whoever you want me to be. Please don't do this, Draco! I can give you whatever you need, whatever you desire!"

His breath trembled as he began to lose the battle of holding his emotions in check. "Those are two very different things. What I want is you, Theia. What I need...is for you to go." He pressed his forehead to hers and met her eye. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I can't have you near me. I won't be able to resist wanting a life with you, and if Astoria ever found out… She's vindictive enough to destroy us all—you, me, my parents." He shook his head. "I can't risk that. We have to let each other go."

Theia shook from head to toe. "I can't! I tried for years to stay away and to avoid temptation too, but I couldn't. I couldn't let you go, Draco! I'll  _never_  be able to let you-"

He kissed her again to stop that thought. Their mouths clashed with pent up frustration, disappointment, and sorrow. They punished each other, they loved each other, and they destroyed each other all in one fell swoop.

"Listen to me," Draco required of her, breaking away. "Your life was terrible before, but you have a second chance now. As you are now, you're not trapped by tradition or family expectation." He rubbed his thumbs along the bottom of her jaw, pressing small kisses to her lips, her cheeks, and her nose. "Leave England, see the world. Do mad things and find pleasure in them. Live as you were meant to, and be free enough for both of us."

His final kiss was warm and gentle, and she tasted the salt from their mingled tears as it spilled between their melded lips.

Draco stroked over her face one last time, his eyes absorbing her, memorizing her. "I want you to know that it will  _never_  be her. It will always be you," he promised. "For me, it'll always be  _you._ "

With that, he stepped back, turned his back on her, and was gone, striding quickly away. His footfalls grew more and more indistinct as he headed back through the garden and into the house - back to the life awaiting him inside his family's Manor house.

A life that could never include her.

With a despairing sob, Theia Apparated away, determined never to return.

 

* * *

 

The following Saturday afternoon, Draco married Astoria Greengrass.

The events leading up to the ceremony had been a blur, and really, he could have cared less about any of it. He was in mourning again and drinking just as heavily as he had when Theo had gone missing the first time.

The only moment he'd really been sober enough to remember had been when he'd gone looking for Theia earlier that week.

Despite his resolve to cut her out of his life for his own sanity's sake, that Friday afternoon he'd somehow found himself standing out front of the small beach house she'd purchased. He hadn't intended to go there, but like a fool in love, he hadn't been able to stay away. The place had been cleared out, and a wizarding real estate agent's sign hung out front. The cottage wasn't to let, but for sale.

Feeling quite ill from a combination of hangover, Apparition, and loss, he'd walked up the brick path to the front door and disabled the locking charm, determined to walk the house one more time.

The cottage had always been too small for his tastes, but Theia had loved it – loved the smell of the ocean nearby, and how quiet it was, as it was a bit away from a Muggle town nearby and off a beaten path. She'd loved how it had made her feel free to own her own place, and how every piece of furniture, every utensil, every appliance in it she'd bought on her own. Draco had never asked where the money had come from, because he'd know it had been Theo's inheritance. His best friend had been much too smart not to have considered his financial needs in his new life when he'd concocted the scheme of his death years before.

As he'd sat on the hardwood floor of the cottage's empty living room, staring out its wide, front window at the sea, Draco had known then, deep down inside, that he wouldn't see Theia ever again. She was gone for good this time. She'd given him exactly what he'd asked for, and the hot lance of pain in his chest pointedly reminded him of that fact.

That old, hateful ache settled back into him like a familiar friend, making a permanent home in his heart. He'd curled into himself and wept at its return, tucking his face into his knees.

He'd mourned his losses all night long, and that next morning, he'd returned home to marry Astoria.

When he'd repeated his marital vows to his bride that afternoon, he hadn't once looked at her, instead picking a spot just over her right shoulder and pretending he was speaking to Theia instead.

 

* * *

_**TO BE CONCLUDED...** _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that in canon, wizards live longer than humans, on average (~137 years in the 1990's). Dumbledore was 115 years old when he was killed. He might have lived much longer, if he hadn't been cursed by the horcrux.
> 
> Theia = Greek meaning 'goddess'
> 
> Variel = Spanish meaning 'changeable' or 'different'

* * *

 

**PART THREE**

.

_**Wiltshire - July, 2010** _

_._

"Fletcher, where's my son?"

Draco's old house-elf seemed flustered. He pulled at his long ears as if he wanted to rip them out of his head. Scorpius occasionally had that effect on others, especially when he was doing something he oughtn't.

"Fletcher is sorry, Master Draco! Fletcher warned young Master Scorpius not to talk to strangers, but the young Master insisted, and Fletcher must obey!"

Stomach dropping into his feet, Draco asked again, more insistently, "Fletcher,  _where_  is my son?"

The grizzled house-elf bowed his greyish head and sobbed. "Young Master Scorpius is in the rose garden gazebo entertaining Master's surprise visitor."

Draco didn't bother to stay to ask who the visitor was, his concern for his son's safety a priority. Astoria had made it clear that she had intended on getting even with Draco someday for divorcing her, despite the fact it was her affair had been the cause of their split (and he had the pictures to prove it). She'd been angry that she'd forfeited the Malfoy fortune and given up her parental rights to their son when she'd been caught cheating, per the prenuptial agreement she'd signed, and had hinted that she would someday snatch Scorpius out from under Draco's nose in retribution.

Panicked that she'd hired someone to kidnap his boy, he took off at top speed down the long hall, heading for the back of the Manor, for the yard.

As he ran down the white gravel path, the gazebo came into view. His son was just then coming down its steps, talking to someone still inside, but hidden by the shadows. Scorpius was animated in a way that said he was eager to show-off to their visitor.

"I'll go get Daddy for you!" the boy vowed, waving a finger at the unseen person beyond the open archway. "Don't leave here, okay?"

A good-natured, very husky, male laugh came from the stranger inside. "I promise."

Draco froze between one step and the next, instantly recognising the voice, despite the fact he hadn't heard it in almost a dozen years.

It couldn't be.

Scorpius turned around to head onto the path to go back into the house but paused as he spied his father standing dumbstruck before him. "Father, you have a guest," the precocious seven-year-old announced, standing up straighter and attempting polite formality. He pulled the hem of his jumper down and smoothed back his hair—as if he were afraid of punishment for appearing less than perfect.

That had been a remnant of Astoria's training, and a habit Draco had yet to undo. He didn't want the kind of relationship between him and Scorpius that Theo had had with his father at the same age. Draco remembered how anxious his best friend had always been whenever Thaddeus Nott so much as looked at him sideways, and he'd never wanted that for his own son.

Hermione Granger-Weasley, Scorpius' mind Healer, said it would take time to alter the boy's automatic negative reaction to authority, though, as Astoria's influence on Scorpius had been well established at a very young age.

Draco cleared his throat, attempting to appear at ease with the situation. "Fletcher informed me." He summoned his son to him with a wave of his hand, and when the boy came close, he put a hand on his head. "Thank you for telling me as well. I'd like you to do something for me now, though. Can you please go find Fletcher and ask him to take you into the Sitting Room to be with your grandmother?" His glance shifted to the gazebo—to the person he knew was listening intently to his conversation with his son. "I'd like you to stay with her for a little while. I'll come find you later." He dropped his gaze to his son once more. "Can you do that for me?"

Solemnly, Scorpius nodded. "I can." His son motioned for him to bend down as if to tell him a secret, and cupped his hand over his mouth as he whispered in Draco's ear, "Are you okay, Father? You're as white as a sheet."

With a reassuring smile, Draco hugged his boy. "I'm fine, my son. I'll come meet you later for an afternoon snack, okay?"

Eagerly his son nodded. He loved afternoon snack because they usually did something fun afterwards—flying on Draco's broom together, tossing a ball, or reading.

"Okay, Father. I'll see you later!"

His son headed down the path at a walk, but as soon as he was out of sight, Draco heard him running. As he neared the back entrance to the house, he was shouting for Fletcher, challenging the old elf to a foot race to the Sitting Room.

With his son well in hand and guaranteed to be occupied for at least an hour or two, Draco mentally prepared himself for what lay up the stairs and into the unlit gazebo.

Mimicking Scorpius' earlier actions, he straightened his clothing and ran a hand through his hair. He breathed into the cup of his hand and sniffed, assuring his breath didn't smell stale or foul. He cast a cleansing charm on his mouth, just in case, tasting mint across his tongue.

He was flat-out terrified of this confrontation.

Reaching for his minuscule amount of courage, as Granger always encouraged in his private therapy sessions with her, he straightened his shoulders and headed up the small set of stairs to the gazebo entrance, prepared to face the music.

Knees knocking and hands trembling, he took that step inside and was instantly engulfed in shadow as the gazebo's vine-covered top blocked the sun. His guest was leaning out the same window-sized opening on the side of the enclosure where Draco had stood  _that night_  long ago. He turned, their gazes met and locked, and Draco knew immediately who he was looking at. He nearly went to his knees in shock and relief.

Theo's strong, masculine features were a handsome, grown-up version of the boy he'd been when he'd disappeared years ago, and his best friend was as tall as Draco remembered. The guy's shoulders and chest were wider, as he'd grown into his wiry frame, but his eyes were still that same lovely shade of indigo-blue.

"Theo," he whispered, completely undone by the sight before him.

Theo's small smile quivered but held.

"Hello, Draco."

Tears wavered before Draco's eyes as a wave of nostalgia rolled over him and shook him hard. There were a million things he wanted to ask his friend, but only one word escaped his lips right then:

"Why?"

Theo gave a small shrug, as casual as could be; as if nearly a decade and a lifetime of regret hadn't separated them. "Heard about your divorce. Thought you could use a friend."

The tears fell despite Draco's best efforts not to let them. He squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated with his weakness, and angry with his friend's blasé attitude. How could Theo just stand there and be so calm? "Is that why you've come here looking like...like  _that?_ " he asked. "Because you think I can't be friends with... _her._ " His friend didn't answer the allegation, but Draco's heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he wasn't sure he'd have heard a response even if there had been one. "If so, that's stupid. It doesn't matter to me what you look like," he stated for the record.

There was a small, but significant pause before Theo snapped back. "That's not true and you know it. It's always mattered to you."

Draco opened his eyes and glared at his friend, shocked by such harsh criticism. "How can you-?"

"-say such appallingly honest things?" His best friend smirked. "Come on, Draco. We both know you were never into men. Why do you think Theia existed at all? I seduced you the only way you would allow me to, and it let us both live out the fantasy of what might have been had things been different." The anger that had sparked so vibrantly into life earlier, was suddenly deflated like a balloon with its air all let out. Theo slumped a bit, his shoulders dropping, and a sad resignation marked his face instead. "If I'd been allowed to be  _her_  from the start of our acquaintance, we could have been arranged by our parents. It would have been a solid match, and none of what happened would have been necessary. We would have been happy, I think."

He fiddled with a pocket watch, checking the time, as if he had somewhere else to be and was just popping by for a quick, "hey, by the way, I'm back".

"But that's not how things were, and I've learned to accept it now," Theo continued. "This is who I am, who I'm meant to be. I'm the heir to the Nott legacy, and it's time I started acting it." The edge of his lips curled upwards with a touch of bitterness. "In the end, tradition's all I've got to lean on, too."

Anger burned a hole in Draco's belly as the implication of Theo's decision became clear to him. "But you were free!" he hissed in rising fury. "Living like this doesn't have to be your fate! You have options!" He stomped across the room before he made himself stop, his chest aching like an open wound, his emotions bleeding all over the wooden floor at their feet. "You have better opportunities waiting out there for you, where people can't tell you how to be, what to look like, what's acceptable and what's not, or what to do with your life! You're telling me you're throwing that all away? For what? What are you trying to prove, and who are you trying to prove it to?"

The answer quite suddenly occurred to him, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

"Your father's been dead and buried for a decade, Theo. Why are you still letting that bastard fuck with your head?"

Theo's eyes narrowed in anger. "This has nothing to do with my father."

"Doesn't it?" Draco challenged. "Why else would you come back to take up his seat at your family's empty table in that mouldy, old house? There's absolutely no reason for you to do so."

His friend shrugged again. "Maybe I like the substantial vault at Gringotts that comes with the title."

Draco began swearing under his breath. "You and I both know you had access to your father's money all along. That cottage in Poole didn't buy itself. You arranged things well in advance of your initial disappearance so Theia wouldn't go without, and I'm sure you did so again this last time you left, too."

Theo didn't reply, but he did turn his head away, embarrassed by the truth.

"You may have had a shit family life and a total arsehole for an old man who did unspeakable things to you, Theo, but of the two of us, you were still the lucky one, because you were born with a special talent that allows you choices," Draco challenged.

When his friend opened his mouth to argue, he cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.

"I would have given up my wand to have had your ability," he admitted. "I certainly could have used it when I was sixteen and about to get marked for life by a madman. I could have used it to avoid a loveless marriage to an evil, rotten slag when I was twenty-one."

He held up his left forearm, pulling back the sleeve to show Theo that the Dark Mark still remained – an eternal reminder of his shame. Then he flashed his friend his left hand, where the permanent burn scar from his wedding band was etched around his ring finger. He hadn't known that his vindictive bitch of an ex-wife had charmed his ring to melt if he ever divorced her.

"You pegged it, by the way: Astoria was as horrible as you'd warned me she'd be. She's held me hostage in this marriage the whole time, threatening to have me or my father tossed into Azkaban for all sorts of made-up crimes if I refused my martial duties. She wanted a child to secure my family's fortune, and she blackmailed her way into my bed to get one. She shamelessly used that same trick every time she wanted something from me, too. If it hadn't been for a series of anonymous photos sent to us by owl post showing her and some cabana boy having it off on the French Riviera, I'd never have gotten out of this marriage."

He sighed with the weight of his life's decisions, and it was a heavy, tired sound. "If I'd had choices, Theo, I'd have done  _anything_  to have escaped the fate that duty forced on me both times, and yet you run right back here and embrace your enslavement to your family's convention. Why?"

Theo sniffed with disdain. "I tried to run. As you asked, I left England. I saw the world. I swam in the Pacific, drank myself sick more times than I care to count, saw beautiful sunsets on every continent, and I even climbed a bloody mountain once and nearly died of hypothermia. I went to University for a year but dropped out. I learned how to cook like a Muggle. I smoked for three months and I hated it, so I quit. I got a tattoo burned into my shoulder of a dragon in tribute to you, but it was gone the next day because of my wonderful 'talent' you speak of. I learned German and found out I'm shit at playing the piano. Oh, and I fucked a sea of faceless people as both Theia and Theo to try to get you out of my system."

Draco flinched, jealous at the thought of anyone touching what was his, and hating himself for feeling so possessive when he had no right to be.

Theo heaved a deep, weary sigh and ran a hand over his face. "I've lived too much in such a short time, and yet it was never enough to ease me. I've never felt accomplished or fulfilled by any of it because none of those were  _my_  goals. They were yours. And I'm tired now. I'm done…or undone…or whatever the fuck you want to call it. I tried to live as you asked me to, and now I just want to come home."

He stepped forward in supplication, but stopped, seemingly unsure as to what would be allowed and what was possibly off-limits. He seemed torn by his desire to reach out for Draco and by the equally opposing need to protect himself from being rejected again.

"I want to come home to  _you,_ " he finally admitted _._  "Being with you is the only thing I've ever wanted, Draco. I told you that when we were children, hiding out in this very gazebo. You're my only wish. So, if this-" He gestured to his male body with a wave of his hand. "-is the only way that can happen without tempting or tormenting you, then I'll be this person from now on. I'll be your best friend again, and it never has to be more than that. I just…I want to be at your side in any way you'll let me."

Draco was overwhelmed by his friend's confession. It brought the tears rushing back, spilling over in an uncontrollable release of emotion.

For years, he'd despaired of ever seeing Theo or Theia again, and yet, here his best friend was, standing before him, offering up everything he'd ever wanted, and on any terms he felt comfortable accepting. He didn't deserve such loyalty or devotion.

"Why?" he asked again, shaken to his core.

Theo gave him another one of those enigmatic casual shrugs, accompanied by a small, gentle smile. "You loved me when no one else did."

Visions of Theo as a little boy holding his hand, hugging him continuously, of them lying side by side in the gazebo and talking for hours instead of playing, of Theo telling him even then, "thank you for being here with me" with every sweet, innocent smile flashed before Draco's eyes. He recalled how happy they'd been whenever they'd been allowed to be together and knew from Theia's tale of Theo's childhood that those moments were what he'd lived for, what he'd clung to so he could get through the abuse he'd tolerated at home.

Draco had been his only lifeline through the dark times of Theo's early days...just as Theo had been his during the war, and Theia had been his in the months leading up to a loveless match.

They'd been each other's support and salvation their whole lives.

"God, Theo," he sobbed, putting a hand over his face, at his emotional breaking point.

The walls he'd spent a lifetime erecting tumbled down around his ears...opening him up to all possibilities. He recalled the loss he'd felt the first time his best friend had disappeared, compared it to the second time when Theia had left him, and knew unequivocally that it was the same. There had been no difference in the pain. It had been the  _person_  he'd mourned. The gender didn't matter.

It. Didn't. Matter.

He was in love with Theo and Theia both.

It was a startling revelation that he could love a man in the same way as a woman, but it occurred to him that they were the same person, that nothing had changed but the outside package. They were the same, and his feelings didn't have any kind of monumental shift just because one had breasts and the other didn't. So, fuck what society said was wrong, and fuck what anyone else thought! They hadn't walked in his shoes, hadn't shouldered the weight of imposed duty, and they sure as fuck hadn't shared this profound bond he had with Theo/Theia.

For the first time in his adult life, he was making a choice that wasn't based on others. He was making a decision for himself.

He dropped his hand and blurted out, "I love you," unable to hold back the flood of his emotions any longer. He meant it, too. It wasn't just some fluffy sentiment spoken in the heat of the moment. This was his resolution.

Theo's whole body tensed up, and he drew in a sharp breath. Wariness and fear were painted across every angle and curve of his expression, despite the confession that lay between them. "As your best friend, or as more?" he softly asked. "What face do you want me to wear, Draco? It's either-or, according to your definition."

His feet pulling him forward a step at a time, Draco reached out for his lover. "I love you both. I  _need_  you both. I...accept you both."

His friend paused only a moment more, searching Draco's face for any doubt whatsoever. When he found none, he moved so fast that he seemed a blur of motion across the floor. In a blink, Draco was in Theo's arms, held in a tight hug—the kind they'd used to give each other as children, the kind of hug that Draco had never wanted to step away from, even then.

"I love you," he stated again, his voice choked with emotion, nuzzling against Theo's hairline. "I have since the first day we met, and I don't think that will ever change, even if the rest of you does. And I'm sorry,  _so sorry_  that I hurt you with my need to please others and to conform. You were willing to change everything for me, but I was never willing to do the same for you. I was selfish."

Theo huffed a small laugh and pressed a small kiss to Draco's pulse. "You're a Malfoy. I expect a certain amount of stubbornness from you. It's in your blood. But nothing can't be undone, Draco. As long as we're together, everything's doable." He took a deep breath and let it out, snuggling closer. "Besides, I was selfish, too. I did come back after two-plus years of no contact for the express purpose of seducing you and trying to get you to run out on your fiancée. The night at the party, I just pulled out all the stops."

Chuckling, Draco nodded. "You were hard to resist in that dress."

"And once I'd gotten over how angry I was at you for sending me away, I came back...and I paid someone to have it off with Astoria so you could drop her hideously unattractive arse once and for all," Theo admitted, not sounding in the least bit contrite. "I also made sure her parents got a copy of the pictures, so there would be no question as to why she was going to get nothing in the divorce."

Draco's astonishment lasted only a moment before amusement took its place. Apparently, his friend hadn't been sorted into Slytherin just because he'd been asked to by Draco the summer before their sorting.

He dropped his head to Theo's shoulder and started laughing.

"You set-up... Took pictures... Bloody brilliant!"

Theo  _tsk'd_ , completely unfazed by his own deviousness. "Honestly, what  _were_  your parents thinking, Draco?" his friend admonished, letting his hands slide down Draco's back to cup his backside and pull him in tight. "The woman had absolutely horrible fashion sense. She looked like some sort of psycho marionette. Even I had better fashion sense, and I'm a hermaphrodite! And she walked around with that ugly expression on her face like everything smelled bad. What a dreadful witch!"

Tears streamed down Draco's cheeks, but this time they were from hilarity. "God, I fucking love you," he gasped in-between giggles and snickers. "I really,  _really_  do."

 

* * *

 

Theo sighed in contentment. "I love you, too."

Draco's arms gripped him tighter, and they stood together in silence for a long time, just enjoying being reunited.

Merlin, it had been a long, hard road to get them here, and there had been a lot of wasted time, but Theo was confident that they'd make up for it. This time, there would be no one barking at him and splitting them apart—not Theo's father, not Draco's parents, not a Dark Lord, not a harpy wife, not society or duty, and not Draco's own pig-headedness. Scorpius didn't seem as though he'd be much of a problem either; Theo and he had hit it off in the fifteen minutes they'd talked.

The only real issue remaining was what form Theo should take to fuck Draco senseless tonight in celebration. Maybe he'd try both for kicks. There was, after all, still the issue of his male virginity never having been taken, as he'd always topped, and he was quite sure it was the same for his lover...

"Shall we go tell my family, then?" Draco asked, sounding as if that wasn't a discussion he was looking forward to, but would have nonetheless.

His lover really had changed for him, hadn't he?

"Later," Theo replied, fondling his partner's bum and taking immense pleasure from the sensation of their erections rubbing together through their clothing. "I'm rather enjoying myself at the moment. Let the world wait for us for once."

 

* * *

.

**EPILOGUE**

**.**

The hug Theo shared with Draco that afternoon in the Malfoy's gazebo warmed him to his toes, it sparkled in his chest. It filled him with a sense of comfort, and told him where he belonged.

For eighty-one years he held on to his best friend and lover just as tightly, sometimes as Theo and other times as Theia. They had their ups and downs, particularly with Lucius, who never approved of their relationship. Scorpius and Narcissa, Pansy, Blaise, Greg, Potter, and even their mind-healer, Hermione Granger (no longer a Weasley), on the other hand, had supported them wholeheartedly.

He and Draco had never had children together, but they had Scorpius and his children, and they had each other, and for the both of them, that was enough.

Then, early one morning in July, as they sat next to each other in the jasmine and rose-scented gazebo that was all theirs, where they'd spent much of their young childhood, where they'd first made love, where they'd eventually married, and where they'd renewed their vows every decade thereafter, Theo finally let Draco go.

.

_**~FIN~** _

_**.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've come to the end of our tale. No sequel required or planned. I like it where it ends. I hope you do, too. Please review and let me know what you thought of my tale. I would be very grateful for your feedback!
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> \- RZZMG

**Author's Note:**

> I have written once before about MetamorphmagusHermaphrodite!Theo ("Something Promising"). I admit I borrowed that same idea and identity of "Theia" from that for this story. 
> 
> Also, I listened to the beautiful song, "Pieces" by RED & Abby Gregori (www . youtube watch?v=JoOBla0hk44) while writing this story. Give it a listen, as her cover/mesh of it is quite beautiful!


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